


Killer Smile

by BlackShady313



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Joker comic, Killer Smile comic
Genre: Blood and Violence, Cliffs of Insanity, Darkish Themes, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Obsession, tender and honest moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackShady313/pseuds/BlackShady313
Summary: Dr. Ben Arnell is a well-known analyst at Arkham Asylum and despite the hundreds of others that have tried and failed; he’s certain that he will be the one to finally succeed in curing the Joker of his uncontrollable madness.He is adamant that no matter how enticing the Jokers call is to him, he will be able to keep the darkness away from him and his family.Dr. Ben Arnell is about to learn how very, very wrong he is.~ orJokers escaped from Arkham (but whatever happened to Dr. Arnell?!)and Batman’s determined to figure out once and for all what **really** goes through the madman’s head.He too is convinced that when he looks at the maniac, that’s been making his life a living hell, he’ll see nothing more than a deranged animal; something to be despised and disfigured until there’s nothing left.Bruce Wayne, however, is about to learn how very, very wrong he is.
Relationships: Batman/Joker, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 22
Kudos: 41





	1. Laughter's a Beautiful Thing.

**Author's Note:**

> so HUGE Joker fan ( comic wise anyways) and as the tag suggests, this is based off the Killer Smile 3 issue comic book by Jeff Lemire. ( FANTASTIC read, would definitely recommend!)
> 
> Also as the tags suggest, this will be a darker story, BUT BUT BUT!!! There WILL be a HAPPY ENDING, so fear not ;)  
> **IMPORTANT TO NOTE**  
> * <\-- Lapse in time

_**PRELUDE**_

  
  
”Beauty.”

“That is all I ever wanted.”

Dr. Ben Arnell shifts back in his chair as he eyes the man in front of him with hidden unease.

He clears his throat, “and you think, what, that all the destruction and murder you ‘provide’ for the city, that it’s some sort of beauty in itself?”

Long slender hands move, fingers touching playfully together as a scarred smirk stretches amongst the shadows.

“Me, provide? HA! Now THAT’S funny, Doc. See if I did that, then that would make me an artist. Rather, I see myself as an entertainer, really. But then again, who am I to say?” Bright sparkling emerald eyes shift closer, and Dr. Arnell can’t help but feel captivated in the other mans presence.

“Maybe I am an artist.”

He laughs a throaty chuckle, smile curling wider as the Dr finds himself laughing along; though unsure why.

“See you get it, Ben, baby. _Laughter_ , now THAT is true beauty.”

Dr. Arnell stills at the compliment. Him and his patient seeing eye to eye was not something he would consider a good thing, body noticeably stiffening up as he readjusts in his chair.

“Artists, entertainers. You know perhaps those are both things you could constructively turn into something positive? Something that **everyone** can enjoy.”

Acid eyes narrow dangerously as fingers tap impatiently to his side. “Ben, Ben, Ben,” the maniac tsks with annoyance before hissing, “Your not listening! How can simple minds truly enjoy something if not for someone telling them, _showing_ them. I aim to give my audience what they _need_ not what they _want_.”

“And what exactly is it that you think people need?”

The man in question cocks his head before taut flesh twists, a curl of a smile appearing. He says nothing in response, simply tilting his head back and laughing loud and off-kilter.

The sudden noise would have startled Dr. Arnell if he hadn’t grown to get accustomed to the man behind the laugh.

He waits a beat to see if the madman will divulge anything else. When he doesn’t a small sigh escapes as he rubs at tired eyes. “We’ve been going at this for 3 weeks now. Look around you, your… _world_ you perceive things in isn’t _normal_ , it isn’t right. Don’t you think at some point you just want to get well; be better? _Be... happy?”_

The Prince of Mischief eyes the other man wearily and for just a second Dr. Arnell thinks maybe, just _maybe_ , he has finally gotten through, even if just briefly. That thought lasts about 10 seconds before the lunatic is bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Happiness? Ha, what a joke! Look at me, I’m as happy as a clown,” he spins in a circle, his neon orange Arkham attire flashing bright as he stops when he’s facing Arnell again. He studies the other man from the other side of the glass with piercing green eyes before he’s leaning forward slightly, as if about to indulge some personal secret. “Perhaps it’s you that’s not got it right Doc,” he taps at his temple with a side eyed smile. “I mean is being ‘well’ _really_ better? All this talk of normal sounds positively dreadful. In fact, it’s such a terrible thought, I have half a mind to just go insane!” He mocks a horrified expression, slender fingers tearing at bright acid locks as he dramatically makes a show in attempting to pull his hair out.

Ignoring the ‘joke,’ the analyst fights back his obvious displeasure. He almost succeeds in hiding it to before a biting remark slips past tightly formed lips, “I don’t know, I guess I’d like to think that being boring is a better alternative to being a homicidal maniac; but I guess that’s just me. You, however, seem to get off on destruction and mayhem.”

He wants to mention the murders, but he doesn’t. He knows the madman doesn’t care.

“Now, now, I wouldn’t say _that_ ; though I must admit, there is _alot_ that get’s me off, darling,” irises shine bright as the madman chews at his bottom lip before winking salaciously. He hums quietly to himself before, “It’s more so the joke that get’s me going…”

… A sharp laugh interrupts the Prince of Mischief before stopping dead with a growl,” and when _I_ get going, well there’s just no stopping me is there, Doc?”

There’s a noticeable wince of disgust etched on Ben’s face as he shakes his head in restrained sadness.

“No… there really isn’t,” he mourns silently, the death count from the maniac weighing heavy in the back of his mind.

“Exactly Benny, oh I just knew you would understand!” he claps his palms together excitedly. “So what do you say, should we paint the town red?” The Prince of Mischief licks his lips without breaking eye contact; the doctor finding he’s unable to turn away, as movements trail the edges of the lunatics curled smile.

Dr. Arnell realizes he’s been staring, and he looks away in horror’d realization; hands coming up to hide his face as he rubs at his short chestnut brown hair with cracked dry hands.

“Benny?” he hears a voice call, but he doesn’t dare look up.

A slight twitch of a frown flashes almost unnoticed as green eyes narrow at being ignored.

Well, the madman would just have to fix that now, wouldn’t he?

“Common sweetness, it’s not as hard as you think. Perhaps we can start with something easy,” a voice too light to belong to such an owner calls, “Tell me, how is your son, _Simon_ doing?”

The name is followed by heavy silence before every restrained emotion instantly breaks; Dr. Arnell’s head snapping up wide eyed to face the maniac.

Hearing his boy’s name uttered from the lips of the most dangerous and insane man in Gotham was the single most terrifying thing he has ever experienced.

So far.

“H-How did you-”

“Shut up Ben, I’m mad at you.” Lanky legs move back as he crosses one on top of the other. He fains for bored innocence, though both men are aware of the show of power the Prince of Mischief is displaying.

“Would you like to guess _why_ I’m so upset with you, Ben, my dear?” he blinks long, angelic eyelashes at the doctor who’s shaking in silent fear.

He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t care for one truly, “You see it’s because silly me thought that what we had going on was something _special_ , I mean not me and Batsy special,” he waves off handedly, “But still something really beautiful.”

“And you _know_ how much I do so want beauty in my life,” he snarls, lunging forward as long nails rake against the glass of his cell.

He enjoys the little pleasure he receives from scaring the older man as Dr. Arnell jumps back; chair dangerously close to tipping.

The doctor doesn’t even process the madman’s words, mind still focused on one thing and one thing only.

“S-Simon? H-how did you-” the lunatic bangs on the glass loudly, interrupting him.

“Oh, get over yourself Ben, were talking about _me_ now, not you,” he snarls angrily. “Geez, it sounds like _your_ the one in need of therapy, Doc,” he stares at Arnell with hands on his hips before bursting into a bout of uncontrollable giggles; unable to contain himself.

The laughter continues, and he doesn’t seem annoyed but rather pleased; letting his head snap back to expose flesh against his adam’s apple, greedily enjoying every noise that escapes his pastel framed lips.

Arnell lets him, saying nothing as he tries to pull himself together. His mind desperately tries to figure out how he could have possibly known. Had he accidentally slipped up and told the lunatic his son’s name during one of their sessions?

“You know, it’s funny really. There’s something about that blissfully unaware nature of a human that just gets me so hot under the collar,” the maniac smiles dreamily before winking at Arnell, the other man turning a violent shade of red as he clears at his throat nervously.

“What exactly do you think I’m blissfully unaware of?”

Pale skin stretches knowingly enough to tear at flesh, the corners of his mouth ripped and trickling down painted lines of blood that set against perfectly white teeth. His eyes sparkle with malicious intent, the emerald green somehow radiating even brighter the longer the doctor looked.

And well- Dr. Arnell just couldn’t seem to look away.

“Well, everything naturally. Buuut- wanna know a secret Ben?” a pink tongue darts out to lick at lips. He’s so close to the transparent barrier between them that he just barely misses tasting glass.

“It’s a _really, really_ good one to. In fact, hell, listen your going to have a laugh after I tell you this,” he claps his hands excitedly together as pupils constrict. The madman’s shaking, but it’s with excited fever, not fear that fuels him.

“Come closer,” an alluring voice whispers, beckoning with a long finger that Dr.Arnell is unable to deny as he shifts as close as he can to the madman.

“Benny, dearest, you haven’t been treating me at Arkham for three _weeks_ , you’ve been treating me for _3 YEARS_.  
  


*  
  
A light flashes bright and the tape flickers. The vigilante known as Batman stands with stoic reserve as he silently takes in the somewhat personal interaction that was recorded between Dr. Arnell and his nemesis session.

A chill passes through the cracked cement in Arkham’s Aslyums basement walls, as Batman ignores the sensation he feels creeping up his spine.

It had been a couple days since the… incident and now he was back at the scene of the crime where everything started.

This had been an obvious indication of the noticeable slip of madness from Dr. Arnell, and it was a start in figuring out how a respectable psychologist of 11 years had somehow ended up… twisted.

Destroyed.

_Sick._

Needless to say, Batman had taken it upon himself to try and figure out where Dr. Arnell had gone wrong, (besides thinking he could actually cure the Joker) and what had transpired to send the reputable man spiraling down into something else entirely.

Perhaps if he could just figure out his enemies secret, he could finally save Gotham once and for all.

The blackened cape that frames his shoulders in fabricated ridges slides back against his body as he turns and reaches for the next tape.

The sound of maddened hysterics rings out, Batman pausing a second to watch the maniac on screen as his finger hovers over the eject button.

A shiver passes through his body as he forces the sound of _his_ trademark call from his mind.

He hears the all too familiar voice call tantalizingly,

“See? I told you it would be funny, Ben baby!!”

He listens to the sound of laughter playing over and over as the analyst knocks his chair back with a start and runs somewhere off camera.

The acid colored eyes turn with tears of humor trailing down his face as he pauses to leer directly into the camera lens.

“It’s sad, really. Some people can just never understand,” the Prince of Mischief sighs, a long slender finger brushing through short spiky hair.

“ _Some_ people will always want to ruin what is beautiful. Don’t they… _darling?”_ and his curled smile is back as he regards the recording with an eerie focus.

A silent breath catches in the vigilante’s throat as he can’t help but stare, mesmerized by familiar green.

Joker had this… _way_ about him. It was as if he was always the star of the show, luring and captivating anyone caught in his gravitational pull.

He wonders how many times he, and the Joker have been caught up in their endless nights of dance and blood-shed. Bruce shifts uncomfortably as he realizes he’s lost track, yet he still finds himself unable to look away from the screen.

The more he studies, the more he finds his gaze drifting from the madman’s eyes to his lips, an unsettling feeling tightening at his chest the longer he looked.

Fists clench at his side, he forces himself to press eject on the TV; his body noticeably relaxing as the screen turns black.

He surveys the other recordings in the bin beside him that he had ‘borrowed’ from Arkham.

Truthfully, he hadn’t technically asked for said confidential information regarding one of their inmates.

But with the state that Dr. Arnell was in now and the way the madman always left the city of Gotham up in ruins, it didn’t matter…

He had to figure out how the Joker ticked.

He needed to know, no matter the cost.


	2. Killer Smile

“Tell me about your last fight with him.”

A finger twitches, the reflexes remembering a smoke between two fingers as emerald eyes watch with keen interest.

Papers shift nervously as Dr. Arnell waits for the madman’s response; finding the more he waits, the more neurotic he becomes.

The clown senses this, a menacing smile curling up amidst the dark as he leans slightly forward.

“ _Him?_ Why, whoever do you mean, dear Ben?” a coy voice finally growls out, as legs splay apart in a widened invitation.

The doctor doesn’t have to look up to know that the clown is staring at him with his trademark predatory grin already in place.

“I mean, after all, you’ll have to be a little more clear. A man with my…” he tents his fingers together as a tongue darts out to lick at the corners of his scars with playful disregard, ” _… Expertise_ , has made his fair share of playmates over the years."

“Riddler, Ivy, Mr. Freeze-” he rattles the names off one by one on each finger before the doctor is holding his palm up to stop him.

“There’s no need to play games. You know who I’m referring to,” Dr. Arnell corrects decisively, as hands come to rub at his temples where the beginning of a headache was starting to form.

He sighs behind exhausted eyes, hands combing his brunette hair back in place as he forces himself to look up and make eye contact with his patients waiting grin.

“Ah, but playing games is one of my favorite things to do, my dearest Benny, after all, don’t you enjoy the one me and you always seem to play?”

His tongue slips out again past thin stretched lips as the clown savors his own taste between his mouth. He loves how intoxicating the smell of fear is to him; the sensation setting him off as he eyes Ben hungrily.

The doctor, noticing, tries for indifference but falls short when the madman’s laughter cuts thick through the air. He forces the unsettling feeling away as he reminds himself to breathe.

Sitting back, he rocks in his chair as he waits for his patient to behave; his mind starting to drift.

Dr. Arnell was abashed to admit that despite the extensive time he had spent in his patient’s company, there seemed to be only _one_ authentic thing that mattered to the maniac sitting across from him.

Only one person who truly caught the clown’s interest; Ben hearing the telltale sign of the madman’s slip of laughter break through his thoughts as a knowing smile sets in the Prince of Mischief face.

“So you want to know about _him_.”

A small, almost pleasant sigh escapes the inmate’s lips, as Arnell can’t help but find the sound oddly strange yet addicting.

“Welllll gracious, you’re just trying to get little old me all riled up, aren’t you, Doc?” he smacks his lips together in clear enjoyment.

“Your avoiding the question. Did it not go well?”

A glimpse of green flashes angrily.

“My, my. _Someones_ being a little presumptuous kitten,” a dark voice growls out in a clear warning.

Good or bad, he knew mentioning Gotham’s famous vigilante would stir a reaction.

“Am I mistaken?”

“Hmm…” the clown pauses in annoyed amusement as a long slender finger taps playfully at his nose as the clown pretends to think.

“Tell me something, Doc. It must get awfully frustrating, what with you being so consistently wrong all the time.”

Scarred lips dip closer, and Ben watches in morbid fascination as his patient breathes against the glass between them. He stops jiggling his crossed leg in favor of studying the acid eyed man whose absentmindedly drawing a noose against the frosted glass.

“I-”

“Ah-ah-ah, Benny dearest. I don’t want to hear another word about your little ugly **insecurities**. Now you asked Mommy for a bed-time story, so be a good little boy and shut your filthy mouth…” a slight quirk of a smile graces his warped face before the gesture vanishes into something else; something dark.

“… Before I do it for you.” there’s no laughter, no joke. An unwavering seriousness passes through the cell of Arkham as a head slowly cocks to the side, eyes never leaving its mark.

Dr. Arnell doesn’t let it show, but with the way the green-eyed man studied him so closely… so deeply…

It left him rattled; completely terrifying him to his inner core.

As he shifts in his chair, he swallows his emotions down. If he shows that side to the other man, he knows it will be used against him.

He watches wearily as long fingers intertwine before bending unhumanly back with a sickening crack.

“Now sit back my little Benny and let me tell you a tale about Mommy and Daddy dearest…”

****3 YEARS AGO.*****

He cuts through the alley, long slender legs making quick work as he dashes with ease through the busy side streets of Gotham. He doesn’t pause, just tilts his head back and laughs loudly as he continues; the vigilante hot on his trail.

Practiced ease has him trained to feel the faintest wobble of sliced air, twisting ever so slightly as the bat-a-rang cuts quietly past its intended target.

He hears the clang of failure, laughing even louder as nimble hands fiddle in bright purple pockets before closing in on his new favorite toy of the night.

With a slight twist of his lithe frame, Joker smiles sweetly back at the man currently chasing him.

“Oh Batsy baby, stop missing and just _take me_ already before I… EXPLODE!”

At his words, two joker heads bounce out, acid green as they land with a sickening pop.

The Bat moves without hesitation, cape wrapping around and fanning the object as a bang erupts into smoked laughter.

Having defused the explosive, Batman turns in horror to see the other joker bomb go off in a curl of electric green smoke. The air is thick and consuming; the vigilante thankful for his protection as he tries to get a read of the environment.

Civilians scream running past and the maniac grins wildly to himself as he relishes every sound of terror that he is the cause of.

A quick surveillance on Batman’s suit flashes. According to his readings it appeared everyone was safe, the vigilante taking a relaxed breath before a voice in particular stands out amidst the chaos.

Training his eyes, he can identity the body of a woman in her late 30s, contorted and shaking in an unnatural angle as she lay helpless in a surrounding cloud of viridescent.

Eyes wide and pitch red, a sea of acid green hair coats the woman as she withers on the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter.

Pupils blink, unfocused and glassy as Batman watches with a sense of powerlessness.

Her own fingers press at the corners of her mouth as she pulls with desperate glee, nails stretching the skin between her lips as the manic sounds of uncontrollable amusement still fills the dark-lit alleyway.

As Batman contemplates if he has the right stuff to make his own remedy against the deadly gas he watches in horror as the gut wrenching sounds of flesh being torn from bone fills the air.

Peeled back skin and exposed muscle bleeds bright into the night as the woman’s insane laughter cuts into abrupt silence. Her neck snaps back in an unnatural angle as the vigilante realizes she has torn her own jaw partly off.

“Now _that’s_ a killer smile,” a familiar voice bleeds into the picture as the man responsible for such atrocities whistles nonchalantly; rocking back and forth in his polished purple shoes.

Batman can only study in sick acknowledgement before masked eyes snap up to glare at Gotham’s #1 Villain.

“Okay wait, I’m sorry but I have to stop you there. Gothams _#1_ Villain? Really?”

Eyes narrow into dangerous slits at the remark before the clown is sighing, jagged nails pressing against his flesh; digging in with an unsightly fashion to the side of his face.

The Prince of Mischief was not impressed.

“Now Benny, didn’t anyone ever tell you that it was rude to interrupt? You wouldn’t wanna go and do a silly little thing like that to _me_ now, would you?” There’s a sharp note to his voice, the therapist more than aware that the clown would not be denied; nor was he fucking around.

Dr. Arnell bites his lip as he finds he cannot stop himself from feeling extremely embarrassed at being scowled at by the other man.

He shouldn’t of cut in. It was impertinent behaviour, especially from a therapist.

“S-sorry,” the brunette mumbles with eyes cast down in shame. He can feel the steadily build up of heat flush on his cheeks, though he ignores the sensation; burrowing it down instead.

The green-haired man hums to himself as he studies the brunette before deciding to carry on as if nothing was amiss, “Especially when the story was just about to get to the fun parts,” he winks slowly, making sure that the other man notices as he lets his eyes roam freely up and down his doctors body with a slightly interested leer.

Arnell, having looked up, leans closer to the other man despite his best judgement as he presses a caution hand to the see thru barrier between them.

The clown watches behind long thick eyelashes, blinking up slowly at his enthralled doctor.

The madman _loved_ a good audience.

A grin stretches wide at this acknowledgement, scars pulling up that match a twisted set of malevolent eyes.

Ben waits with bated breath as he silently wonders how close he would allow himself to get to the other man if the glass between them didn’t exist. He thinks about it briefly and is disturbed by the unworried nature of wanting the interaction.

“Please continue?”

For a second, Ben wonders if the other man will lash out angrily at him but is pleasantly surprised when the madman relaxes at the submission instead, shoulders loosening up as Dr. Arnell unconsciously does as well.

“Now that’s a good boy, Benny. Now where was I… hm… let’s see, oh yes, now how could I forget _that_ little part…”

“I still think my smile is prettier though, wouldn’t you say?” a pointed chin tilts up as manic eyes glimmer and a blinding smile flashes bright at the Batman currently scowling at him.

The vigilante says nothing, though his eyes shift over to the girl with a surreptitious flicker before locking back on to his nemesis waiting smile.

With all eyes on him, the clown is eager to slip a wet tongue out to lick salaciously at pale skin as Batman studies the gesture closely before forcing himself to look away.

There’s a clear look of displeasure written across the vigilante’s face, the Joker noticing immediately as his grin droops at the sides before plummeting into a full out frown.

Realizing that he would not get an answer, his eyes turn black with impatience instead.

Being ignored? Well, that simply wouldn’t do.

“Batsy Baby, did you not hear me? I said-” an unfiltered grunt slips past thin painted lips as the clown sinks to his knees from the powerful kick the vigilante delivers to his lower abdomen without warning.

The Joker yelps in surprise before suppressing a giggle as a whirling noise fills the air before he feels his body being dragged against the filthy streets of Gotham.

“Ropes? My, my, and here I thought we agreed to leave the kinky stuff till Friday,” he wiggles experimentally against the material, testing the strength as he lets himself savor the pleasure of the vigilantes device holding him down. His Bat was always so rough with him.

The Joker fucking _loved_ it.

As if on cue, a rock flies up, its sharp jagged edge cutting deep into the lithe shoulder blade of the Joker as he winches before letting loose a quiet giggle that irrupts into a full-blown fit of unhinged hysteria. He’s all too aware of the tattered mess of purple and green being ripped to shreds of his signature outfit as he’s pulled through the alley with the cord pressed tight against his skin.

Long eyelashes flutter close as an unheard moan of pleasure slips past thin ruby lips. He can’t help but relish the thought of the marks he knows that will be proudly on display by morning. The _want_ fuels him as the Joker knowingly thrusts with unabashed disregard; rubbing himself raw before settling into a blitzed out smirk.

“Someones clearly not playing fair,” he pouts before his red stained lips part with an exaggerated pant.

“Nobodies playing.”

“Speak for yourself, Bat Boy.”

He flips a switch blade with ease, the letter J embroidered on it as he makes quick work in tearing through the binds without a second thought.

The rope snaps apart as long legs sprawl unnaturally out and into a shaking fit of giggles; the madman clearly pleased with himself. “My, my. Well now, this is just top notch quality stuff, Batsy,” he rubs at his tender wrists gingerly before grinning up wildly at the vigilante, “But then again, you always spare no expense when it comes to little old me, isn’t that right, darling?”

“Enough.”

Knowingly The Joker licks his cracked painted lips with an undeniable hunger behind his startling bright emerald green eyes; the vigilante studying the man wearily behind his cowl.

Innocent eyes blink up. “Enough of what?”

 _This game_ Batman wants to say, but instead he focuses on trying to grab the madman’s ankle; coming up short.

“What did you use on that woman back there?” he asks to cut the tension amidst his own frustration.

Having been acknowledged, a perfidious smirk flashes bright at his hero as he casually dodges another attempt at being grabbed.

“Nothing but a little shot of laughter, Batsy Baby. Sides with this day and age, we could all use a little _happiness_ in our life, wouldn’t you say?” his laughter is sharp and painted, feral grin quick to sour as eyes flicker over to notice a helpless vagrant curled up off to the side of the street; a purple shoe coming up to kick firmly at the homeless man’s body.

How dare he try to interrupt a private conversation between him and his Bat. No one else was allowed to have his attention but him!

“What would you know of happiness?” a monotone voice asks as eyes narrow at the random malicious gesture displayed by the Joker, though he does nothing but advance closer; jaw clenching tight with each step.

“What would you know of happiness?” the clown mimics back in a childish taunt as he flaps his hand in a talking gesture before dusting off his green and purple suit that now lay in tattered ruins.

“Life is meant to be savored, my precious Bat. But then again, perhaps you’ve forgotten what _that_ feels like, what with you being so bloody _moody_ all the time,” he finishes with a huff, though his eyes remain eager and mischievous.

Batman stays silent, an eyebrow raising as the only indication of having heard the other man as he can’t help but scoff at the irony behind his nemesis words.

Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, emerald eyes stare at the vigilante before lighting up in realization as he offers a dazzling smile to his favorite man. “Say, Batsy, I got just the thing for those gloomy blues.”

He leans dangerously close before playfully booping his Bat on the nose as he twirls away with a wicked laugh. Nimble fingers make quick work as the madman goes to reach for something in his inner pocket before gloved hands are abrupt in stopping him dead in his tracks.

“You never let me get away with anything,” the clown pouts in a disturbingly innocent looking manner before a deranged smile twists up with morbid curiosity as his attention drifts elsewhere.

“Ooh what’s this thing here do,” he squirms against the firm grip before wiggling close enough to push a small button on the side of Batmans suit before dancing away from gloved fingers desperately trying to capture him once and for all.

A gruff, “Don’t,” is cut off by an animated snapping sound as a sharpened metal trap slides out and on the ground a mere few centimetres from his nemesis.

The Joker doesn’t even flinch, just watches with reserved intrigue.

“Don’t what? Please Batsy, you insult me. This looks like one of those bear traps created in the 1920s. You need something a lot more modern to keep up with this-” the words die in the clown’s throat as the gleaming blades snap shut with a sickening crunch.

The trap the Joker had unknowingly released wasn’t designed for people; but immobilizing automobiles instead.

An eerie stillness passes and for a moment even the Prince of Mischief is silent, eyes widened in disbelief as he’s blinded against a rushing onset of agonizing pain.

“Fuck,” Batman growls under his breath as he takes three long steps, closing the gap between the two of them.

He tries to ignore how compliant the other man is being as he flexes his arms to pry the piece of jagged metal open, freeing the Joker’s ankle and leg that was still intact; though barely.

“Ooh now _that’s_ going to leave a mark,” a voice purrs as irises flicker up and down to take in the sea of spreading red. There’s a noticeable slur to the clown’s words, an obvious wobble behind his movements.

Hearing his obnoxious voice, the vigilante can’t help but feel relieved. A talking Joker was better than a silent one; though the amount of blood still pooling out had the bat gravely concerned.

“Let’s go now, before you bleed out all over the place.”

The Joker, seemingly unconcerned, just smiles against the uncontrollable quiver in his legs as he half holds onto his Bat for support.

“Pretty isn’t it?”

A sluggish hand trails down to press at the wound, pale fingers coating a bright crimson color as the Joker works with half-closed eyes; applying the fresh blood to his own lips. “I do so crave the little reminders of the love we share, Batsy, it makes me feel so… so, ALIVE!”

The caped crusader says nothing, jaw clenched tightly in disgust as he can’t seem to stop himself from staring.

“Course you don’t have to do much to catch my attention do you, Batsy Baby?” the clown laughs, a pained but throaty sound before breaking off into an exhausted wheeze that has the madman doubling over in a fit of agony.

With ripped and blood-soaked clothes, makeup half smeared and trademark acid green spiked hair now a disheveled mess, the Prince of Mischief looked well and truly insane.

“Give… give me 5 minutes darling and I’ll be ready for round 2, I swear it,” he pants between labored breath.

Leave it to the Joker to never know when to quit.

“Stop. It’s over.”

There’s no waver to his voice as firm hands haul the clown up as gently as he can before elbows twist and bend almost unnaturally out of place behind his back.

The Joker uses this action to press tighter against the front of the masked man instead of away; lanky body enjoying the friction of the Bat suit against the small in his back.

“Oh Batsy, darling, it’s never _truly_ over is it?” His voice is quieter than normal and yet it makes no difference to the vigilante, the words holding the same impact as he shivers unconsciously; ignoring the pale neck on display as he eyes the clown with hidden unease.

Knowing eyes go unblinking, as green swims in a sea of black.

A pleasant sigh escapes past scar stretched lips as a long arm curls up to wrap around the Bats neck from behind, locking him in place. Much to the vigilante’s chagrin, he allows it, though eyes remain focused on his nemesis with practiced caution the entire time.

“You’ll be back for more,” is all the clown whispers, as if a hidden promise stains the truth.

Batman remains motionless as red smeared lips press against the side of his cowl; the warm sour breath ghosting lightly against skin. He knows he should pull away, but for some reason he doesn’t.

The madman holds onto his nemesis in an almost disturbingly intimate way for a moment before turning to face the vigilante head on. It’s during their shift that the crusader feels the alarmingly unsteady movement of the clown, body tense and on high alert as he watches the Joker reach clumsily into the side of his torn coat.

“Don’t.”

Strong hands press firmly against a frail wrist as pale skin trembles slightly before giving in. The knife clangs uselessly to the ground, the Joker not even caring as hands slump weakly to the Bat symbol on the vigilante’s chest.

For once the clown is ‘behaving’, body panting against the beginning signs of strain as Batman takes a moment to assess the situation.

He hesitates on what to do before telling himself that there’s no other option with the way the Joker was bleeding out. His body noticeably stiffens as he reaches down and scoops the feeble body of his nemesis up and into his arms. The clown feels clammy and pale, more so than usual, and it raises more than enough concern.

He _hated_ the Joker, but Bruce Wayne and Batman both had a code to abide by.

He would not kill, despite what others might want or expect of him.

Cradling him close as not to jar or make anything worse, he can feel the other man’s ribs poking through his blood soaked purple shirt as the manic man slips between unconscious and semi awake; his head rolling weakly against Batman’s lower shoulder.

It wasn’t often that the vigilante could look at his nemesis in such a vulnerable state, finding muscular arms tightening more around his waist and legs at the unfamiliar sight.

He had seen the Joker at his bad and at his very worst.

But this…

A low whimper escapes past half-conscious awareness as the clown shifts, pressing in closer to Batman’s chest.

_so helpless_

_so human_.

… was something else entirely.

As he walked on in silence he tried to keep his eyes trained ahead, but found his gaze constantly drifting back down to the other man in his arms. Despite his obvious height advantage, Batman always wondered how the Joker could be so capable and strong with such a lithe form to him. He had underestimated him once, during the first night they had fought.

Bruce made sure to never make that mistake again.

As if sensing his Bat was thinking of him, the clown stirred slowly in his arms, emerald eyes blinking hazily up as he smiles groggily at the man protecting him.

Masked eyes flicker down at the movement, nervous, as he captures the rapt attention of his wounded nemesis. He’s not sure what to expect at this point, and not _knowing_ is a terrible feeling; one in which he blames the reason behind not being able to look away from the Joker.

A finger curls up into the vigilante’s chest as his voice comes out slightly slurred and unfamiliar as he desperately fights to keep his eyes open, “Mmm Batsy, it’s like I tolds you…

you _always_ come back for me.”

*

A chair squeaks as Dr. Arnell shifts to get more comfortable from his slightly cramped position. He finds the story doesn’t offer much for insight, having already been more than aware of his patients ‘obsession’ with Gotham’s vigilante, but he supposes something is better than nothing.

He scribbles a few things down on his pad, stopping momentarily to debate something before continuing his writing. In the background he is vaguely aware of his patient humming a tune; a noise that surprisingly brings him comfort.

After a while he closes his spiral notepad, glancing up as he can’t help his eyes from roaming down to the other man’s left ankle to see if the story was true.

He sees the jagged scar, now a faded off color of white that contrasts with the owners usual pasty skin tone. The madman watches him, a satisfied grin etched on his lips as he licks them with anticipation.

“Like what you see Benny baby?”

The therapist ignores the question, clearing his throat instead.

“That’s quite the… relationship you two seem to have.”

Emerald eyes sparkle bright and open as the clown claps his hands together in joy. “The best, Doc baby, the best.”

Arnell says nothing, simply studying his patient thoughtfully as the man under observation leers back with lips pulled taut against broken skin.

“But don’t you worry, Benny dearest, there’s no shame in coming in second place.”

For some reason the words startle the doctor as he unconsciously lets a small frown grace his face.

All he can think to say is, “U-um what?”

_Second?…_

Lines crease as a forehead wrinkles in consideration. If anything were to ever happen to Batman, would that mean Arnell would become the madman’s number one play thing?

His heart beats irrationally loud at the thought, a dark part of him wondering what that would be like. He catches himself with disgust, locking away the disturbing idea to somewhere deep in the confines of his mind.

He wouldn’t think like that. He was married for god’s sake and this man… this man was _sick_.

He just hoped that he could cure him.

“So that girl, she died then?” he’s hoping to get his patient and himself back on track with his meaningless question. Truthfully, Dr. Arnell already knew the answer; that much was obvious.

“Hm? What girl?” the clown picks at jagged nails that split into tender flesh as he doesn’t bother to hide his boredom.

“The one from the story.”

The madman scoffs, slender legs uncrossing as he regards the other man with offended demeanor.

“Ah jokes, is that what your telling?” his voice is carefree and light though Arnell doesn’t miss the cutting edge to his tone. “Seems a little someone needs some _gentle_ reminding that _I’M_ the clown in this here relationship.” a thumb presses against his chest to prove his point before emerald eyes flicker dark, “AND I’M NOT FUCKING LAUGHING!”

“I tell you the most amazing tale of me and my Batsy and THAT’S what you ask?” a raucous voice growls out as A sickly pale knuckle raps at the glass between the two of them, startling Arnell from his spiraling inner concerns.

“Helloooo, is anybody in there?

News flash Doc, who fucking cares about the bitch!?”

“I’m sure Batman does,” the doctor retorts, knowing all too well that he’s playing a dangerous game with the irascible madman whenever the vigilante’s name is brought up for questioning.

Sure enough, the words seem to only fuel the maniac’s ire, “Yes, well I suppose _someone_ has to,” his voice cuts sharply as scarred fingertips rake through semi spiked hair.

Ben watches the outburst with curious eyes as he taps his pen tip to his lips in consideration before trying a new tactic.

“I thought you said the fight went well?”

At this the lunatic freezes, head half cocked, eyes disturbingly wide and unblinking as he fixes the doctor with an unsettling gaze of calm insanity.

There’s no smile, no anger. Just a wave of utter madness.

“And it _did_. Were you being a naughty boy and not listening, Ben?”

“I-” Dr. Arnell hesitates, finding his mouth unable to work as he clings desperately to his freshly pressed work pants.

Why did he suddenly feel so embarrassed?

“Y- you didn’t escape, and he locked you up in Arkham. Do you really classify that as a ‘good day’?”

A tongue darts out to lick against unnaturally sharp teeth as Ben watches the movement with attentive eyes; curious to the other man’s answer.

“Oh tsk, _that_ ” the clown waves off handedly with a bite of his lip, “Mommy and Daddy were just having another lovers’ spat, nothing more, nothing less.”

“We _always_ kiss and make up.” The comment is said with such an animalistic growl that Dr. Arnell wonders briefly if it really was wise to push the other man further. Yet…

“As far as the visitor logs go, _he_ hasn’t made an appearance since your last incarceration.” The response states matter of fact, and the maniac glares at the insinuation; eyes turning an unearthly black.

“Yes, well, Batsy does love to keep this girl waiting,” he snarls venomously, eyes moving to fixate and pierce into the camera lens as he taps long fingers impatiently.

A voice so soft that seemed almost inappropriate to address the clown with calls quietly in the background, “It’s been 3 years. Don’t you ever get tired of waiting?”

He presses his palm against the glass in a form of silent comfort, though he’s sure the maniac will brush the gesture off with a sudden burst of hysterics like usual, but is surprised again when the clown remains still instead.

Oddly enough, Dr. Arnell misses the sound.

A chill of silence passes through Arkhams concrete walls as slender fingers move to press against the glass in return; fingers lining up with the doctors.

“Yes Ben…

sometimes I do.”

*

The monitor flickers brightly in stark contrast to the pitch black walls of the vigilante’s headquarters as Bruce turns away to stare into the inky darkness of his bat cave. He swallows down an unnamed feeling that weighs heavy in his chest as his mind replays the interaction he had witnessed between the two men in the video over and over.

Bruce had listened to the tape, completely enthralled by the way the Joker could somehow retell a story. He was so mesmerizing with the swiftness of his tongue that for a brief moment in time Bruce had felt like he was back in the memory; fighting right alongside his nemesis.

Him and Jokers last fight before he was locked up in Arkham.

He remembers that night well.

It had been 3 years since their last encounter, 3 years since the last dance of crimson blood poured from the skies in a shower of violence and unfamiliar vulnerability.

3 years, 2 months, and ~~36~~ 37 hours since the last time the caped vigilante saw Gothams streets paved with green and purple.

Bruce told himself he needed to keep close track because he _had_ to, nothing more, nothing less.

As he eyes the monitor wearily with another Arkham tape he had ‘borrowed’ from the facility, he tries to taper down his racing heart. The Joker on screen is scowling deeply at something Dr. Arnell had just said, jagged fingernails digging into see through white skin as the madman’s displeasure turns to a deranged smirk.

He faintly hears the sound of uncontrollable laughter spill out and wonders if-

“Bruce?”

The name startles the billionaire out of his thoughts as he forcefully tears his eyes away to address the voice.

“A-Alfred? Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

The older man eyes Bruce with an infinitesimal pause, lips twitching in a line as if about to say something before changing his mind. “Yes, well. You seem rather put out tonight, Master Wayne. Is there anything I can do to put your troubled mind at ease?”

Bruce is in the middle of shaking his head no when he watches his old trusted friend’s wrinkled face light up with a hint of excitement.

“Oh, I know!

“Maybe this news I can offer you will cheer you up. It seems like one of your old enemies has turned back up in Arkham in just these last couple hours.”

Bruce stills completely.

An old enemy?

He wets his lips; mouth turning dry.

“W-who are you referring to?”

Unaware of his master’s inner turmoil, Alfred straightens up with a smile.

“The Joker, Master Bruce.

He’s back.”

Years of practice has him trained to mask his expressions well as he does his best to remain emotionless at the confession. Ignoring the slight tremble in his hands, he turns back to his monitor; flicking the channel to the live feed he had secretly installed in Arkham.

“How?”

“I- I’m not really sure to be honest Master Bruce, I just noticed it on the telly a short while ago. From what I gather, he apparently turned himself in on his own accord.”

No.

It couldn’t be, the other man never came willingly unless accompanied by Batman, and even that was few and far between.

He was about to tell Alfred he must have been mistaken when the screen flickered to the current time and place and a familiar shadow has the billionaire stopping in his tracks.

Sure enough, the Joker’s sitting back on his designated bed, head bowed with arms covering his face from any direct view.

Bruce watches for longer than he knows he should, eyes darting relentlessly in hopes of catching a view of the other man’s face.

Was this a trick? It had to be.

It always was something when regarding his green-eyed enemy.

The live feed shows a stir of movement as Bruce finds his gaze transfixed onto a flash of pale skin; his wrist exposed and now on partial display.

The vigilante gasps, confirmation hitting hard at the recognition of white flesh that he could easily identity like the back of his own hand.

A blossoming fresh bruise peaks out, something that _shouldn’t_ be there, along with a new cut that hasn’t fully healed.

Bruce hadn’t seen the clown since their last fight before Arkham; hell he had been still trying to track him down after his escape about a month ago.

Another shift, and eyes narrow dangerously on screen to a set of bruises on the madman’s other lithe wrist.

He hadn’t given the Joker those either.

_‘Don’t you get tired of waiting?’_

_‘Yes Ben. Sometimes I do.’_

He remembers the exchanged words between the two men in the recording, an uncontrollable hot burn of possessive anger seizing the vigilante, as fists clench at his side at the beginning sign of rage.

He should be relieved with the Joker once more locked away behind bars; but instead Bruce finds himself unable to stop his growing obsession with staring at the mysterious marks left on the lanky man’s body.

He feels like he’s been staring for hours, and perhaps he would of if not for a voice calling out and catching his attention.

“Master-”

He stands abruptly, eyes scanning over his desk as he grabs the keys to one of his luxury civilian cars he kept in the back of his cave.

“Master Bruce? Where on earth are you going at this hour?”

He doesn’t give a proper response. _He can’t._

Instead,

“Goodnight Alfred. Don’t wait up.”

*

“Bruce Wayne?”

He hesitates slightly before schooling his face into a dashing smile as he turns to face the voice in question.

He had prepared for this.

“Yes?”

“Ah, I thought that was you! Well, what a surprise!” high heels click against tiled floors as a tall woman walks over to the wealthy and influential brunette. “Welcome, I’m Dr. Hutchins, educational director of Arkham. You know, I’ve never been able to officially thank you for all the money you’ve put in to this place over the last few years.”

“Yes, well, my pleasure. Just trying to do what I can to help keep Gotham safe,” his response is automatic as he shakes the doctor’s hand with practised ease.

“And so you have, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please, call me Bruce.”

“Okay, Bruce,” and the billionaire doesn’t miss the way she smiles just a little brighter. “Now, is there anything I can do for you today?”

The answer is yes, though he knows what he’s about to ask isn’t a simple request. He’s also acutely aware that his ~~request~~ demand will cause a lot of stir and eyebrow raises from more than a few people; and with his public image on the line, he realizes he should be more concerned.

He’s not, though the billionaire is known to hide his discomfort well.

“I came to see someone.”

A smile graces the woman’s face, though she does a terrible job of hiding her surprise. “Oh, of course! Have you recently had a friend admitted or-”

“I came to see _him._ ”

At his commanding tone her face falls instantly, though there’s some confusion behind her eyes,” E-excuse me? See who?”

Bruce’s pupils flicker between the director's eyes and the slight frown beginning to spread at the corners of her mouth.

He _knows_ this is an awful idea. A Terrible one, in fact.

His entire insides scream at him in a warning; telling him to just go back to his cave, to walk away and put all of this behind him.

It’s the smart choice, and Bruce is aware of it.

Though it doesn’t mean he has to listen.

“I came to see the Joker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Whew* So much for my goal of 'short' chapters but I was determined I wanted to end this chapter on this note.  
> With that being said, hope you enjoyed the madness that is the Joker,  
> and remember to smile :D:D:D:D:D:D

**Author's Note:**

> ENJOY and don't forget to...  
> Smile 🤪😵🥴
> 
> ** and leave kudos or comments if you liked, Please and Thankies. I worked my ass off, and the Joker isn't the only one that hates being ignored ;)💕❤


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